


True Colours

by Khalehla



Category: Football RPF
Genre: 2009 U17 boys friendship, Goalies, Humor, M/M, Mistaken Identity, losing a bet, twins who aren't twins
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-11
Updated: 2016-07-11
Packaged: 2018-07-22 22:51:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7456933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Khalehla/pseuds/Khalehla
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Circumstances force Bernd and Marc-André to "reveal" their true selves - and it's not them who truly suffers for it.</p><p>A comedy for the unsuspecting. Or a lesson in how to torture the senior team management without actually trying.</p>
            </blockquote>





	True Colours

**Author's Note:**

> Includes cameos with the 2009 U17 boys + Marco

“Yes! Yes! YES!”

The shouts of celebration are loud as Yunus and Shkodran jump around the room with their arms wrapped around each other. Mario and Marco are laughing as Bernd is banging his head lightly on the coffee table. Marc-André has his face buried in his hands, wondering how in the name of all things holy had they managed to lose.

“I don’t understand,” he’s muttering to himself again, “how did you manage that? You’ve never beaten me before – _ever!_ ”

“I don’t care!” Shkodran says, giant grin on his face. “A bet’s a bet and you have to pay up!”

“Why did I agree to this?” Bernd has stopped hitting his head on the table, but is now laying on the ground, holding a pillow over his face.

“Next IB!” Yunus says, moving to where Bernd is on the floor and snuggling up against the keeper who is trying to suffocate himself. Bernd tries to push him away, but that just makes Yunus latch on to him even harder. “And I want photographic evidence!”

“Don’t worry, we’ll get that for you,” Marco says, finally having stopped laughing but grinning nearly as widely as Yunus and Shkodran.

Marc throws a cushion at the Dortmund forward. “Traitor!”

“Hey, a bet’s a bet – and you guys agreed,” Marco reminds the goalkeepers with very little sympathy.

Marc throws another cushion, at Shkodran this time. “Why? Why?” he groans, grabbing another cushion and holding it over his own face.

–

In all the years that Jogi had been training the German National Team, never once had he had any international break where one or more (or all) of the boys hadn’t managed to do something to surprise him – and by “surprise” he actually meant makes-him-want-to-bang-his-head-against-the-wall. But as the years went by and he’d become more and more immune to the levels of I-can’t-believe-they-did-that, he honestly thought that the players were no longer capable of surprising him.

And so he really, _really_ hated it when they did. Every. Single. Break.

Of course this time round, the guilty parties somehow manage to cause problems _without_ actually doing anything wrong – which is what frustrates him the most.

He should have taken it as a sign when Müller – the player with the least effective mouth-to-brain filter in the entire squad – exclaimed loudly on the first team dinner, “oh my God! You mean you guys aren’t actually blond?!”

Jogi wasn’t really sure how important a player’s hair colour was to their ability to play football, so he hadn’t even bothered to turn around and find out who Müller was referring to. He should have known better, and checked, because then the next few days wouldn’t have happened.

It all starts at the first training session when they’re about to split up into groups, when he notices that he’s missing two blond goalkeepers. He can almost feel his blood pressure rising, because it’s the _first day_ and if the two were up to something _already_ , so help him, he was going to send them home packing immediately and call up two _ginger_ back-up keepers instead.

“Where in God’s name are ter Stegen and Leno?” he demands, making a full circuit and frowning at the entire team.

He hears two familiar voices say “coach?” behind him, and turns around to where two hands are raised tentatively in the air, about three metres apart. Jogi stops. And stares.

Okay, then. So _that’s_ why he didn’t immediately notice the two missing blondes – because, well, they _weren’t_. Blond, that is. Not anymore.

He blinks at ter Stegen and Leno for a few more seconds, ignoring the stifled giggles and suppressed grins from the other players. “There you are,” he says eventually, still too surprised to say anything else. “Go… go with Neuer and Andi.” 

He dismisses everyone else in order for them to start training, then makes his way to where Oliver is trying not to smirk. “So apparently the blond twins are not blond after all.”

“Apparently not,” Oliver agrees, and Jogi can already feel a headache forming.

“This isn’t funny, Oli!” he says, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Of course it isn’t,” Oliver agrees again, somehow managing to look smug with a perfectly straight face.

Jogi has a very bad feeling he’s not going to survive this break without going home with a few more grey hairs.

–

“It wouldn’t be so bad if they weren’t so similar!” Andi is saying to Thomas when Jogi and Oliver join them the night before the first friendly. “So when they’re not actually standing next to each other, it’s horrible!”

“What’s horrible?” Oliver asks, but Jogi thinks he knows very well what poor Andi is talking about.

“ter Stegen and Leno!” Andi almost cries. “It’s bad enough they both stopped dyeing their hair at the same time – but did they have to get the same haircut as well?!”

“You’ve been calling them each other’s name?” Oliver guesses.

“Sometimes to their faces,” Thomas confirms, patting Andi on the shoulder in sympathy. “I did it a couple of times as well.”

“Does anyone know _why_ they decided to go brunette?” Jogi asks.

“I think I heard Reus telling the others that they’d lost a bet or something, and had to go _au naturel_ ,” Oliver says. “That would explain it.”

“I preferred it when they were blond,” Andi complains. “I could tell them apart much easier because they had different haircuts! Why did they decide to get the same haircut too?!”

“You could always send one of them to the hairdresser and make them dye their hair?” Oliver suggests.

“This isn’t funny, Oli!” Andi whines, then turns to Jogi. “Make him take this seriously!”

“I _am_ taking this seriously,” Oliver objects. “Don’t worry, we’ll come up with something.”

“Like what?” Andi demands, frowning still.

Oliver thinks for a few moments, then says a triumphant _‘aha!’_

“Make them wear their actual kits during training!” the general manager suggests.

Thomas rolls his eyes. “Then they’ll know we can’t really tell them apart.”

“What are they going to do? Complain? Refuse?”

“You may have a point there,” Jogi muses. “Let’s try it when we get back to camp tomorrow.”

And that’s how Germany’s back-up keepers were supplied with actual jerseys rather than training gear for the rest of the break. Which worked wonderfully for the first two days. And then it went wrong. Again. Of course.

“Leno, why are you still here?” Andi scowls. “You’re with Thomas’ team today - get going!”

“What do you mean, coach? I _am_ going!”

Andi spins around to see a very baffled Leno staring at him, then spins back around to see the back of ‘Leno’ jersey turning towards him. Only it’s ter Stegen – apparently wearing a jersey that’s not his.

“What’s going on?” Andi demands, confused.

“What the fuck?!” Leno exclaims, yanking his jersey over his head, gaping when he sees ‘ter Stegen’ on the back of it.

“What the fuck?” ter Stegen repeats, also pulling his jersey over his head so that they can trade.

For a minute Andi just stands there, breathing deeply and wanting to find a solid surface to hit his head against. “ _How_ did you manage to wear each other’s jerseys?” the goalkeeping coach demands from between clenched teeth.

“I don’t know,” Leno says helplessly, exchanging panicked looks with ter Stegen. “They were on the benches when we picked them up and Manu-”

“-gave them to us when we got changed,” ter Stegen finishes when the other keeper stops, eyes wide.

They simultaneous turn to glare at Neuer who is nonchalantly setting up further away. “That _asshole!_ ”

The two back-up keepers look like identical, self-righteous, avenging angels, and this time Andi gives in to the temptation and face-palms. Quite painfully. Still not hard enough to knock himself out, though (shame).

“Just… _go!_ ” he says weakly, waving his hand at them in dismissal, not even bothering to check if they’ve obeyed him before he stalks off in the opposite direction.

 

**Author's Note:**

> So. It seems my blond Steno twins aren’t blond after all - they’re actually brunette underneath those golden tresses. I still ❤️ them, though. And I’m also very thankful they’ve discovered hair-dye because, well, they look _good_ as blondes.
> 
> Marc-André was already a blonde by the time they played for the U17s, Bernd only started letting his hair grow and dyeing it when he moved to Leverkusen.
> 
> And here is an extremely unflattering photo of them both in between trips to the hairdresser...
> 
> XD
> 
> ==  
>  All my fics (including _many more_ Steno stories) will now be locked to registered users only. Signing up to AO3 is free and quick and I hope I can keep sharing these stories with you!
> 
> I have a [tumblr account ](khalehla.tumblr.com) for my writings and random ficlets. If you have a question about this or any of my other stories, come say hi :)
> 
> ==  
>  Disclaimer: I write **_fiction_** about real people. As far as I know, none of these events ever happened; any resemblance to any actual events are purely coincidental.


End file.
